Do You Trust Her?
by LonePiper
Summary: "Damn it, thought Mustang, he had talked too much. He sat there sipping his coffee, wondering what he could say and what he should say." One thing worse than waking up from a nightmare, is waking up from a nightmare when you have a hangover. Canon compliant. Royai if you look closely.


Like all dreams it was surreal and disjointed. He was in the desert, there was smoke and panic, and as he raised his arm to incinerate another building he heard a child cry. He looked around and saw the child, a girl, kneeling by a fresh grave. But she wasn't from the desert, she had blond hair and her brown eyes were raw with tears. Her mother was dead. How did he know that? Of course, this was a dream. As she looked at him he saw recognition, then hope in her eyes. Should he know her? Stupid dream.

A man in a suit was there, he hadn't been there before. He took the girl's hand to lead her away. As the girl stood the man simply became a post in the ground and she became a woman dressed in a long pale jacket. Her steady gaze pierced him and he heard her voice, though she didn't seem to speak. Her words were confident and hopeful and filled him with horror, "Free me from my Father's burden."

His left arm was still raised, fixed in position and his right hung like lead at his side. He felt hollow and angry and helpless. He knew this women, he trusted her, but who was she? His heart started beating faster and the dream closed in around him.

"Free me." How could he help? In the desert he had only been good at one thing. His fingers snapped and sparks like lightening flew from his hand and enveloped the woman in flame. The flames curled around her and settled into her back, and she smiled at him. A genuine relieved smile. Freaking nightmare. He knew that the woman had known what he was about to do and yet she hadn't moved. She just stood there and smiled calmly at him as his flames ripped across her back.

He felt a helpless self loathing as a wave of horror took him and he screamed, "No!" A stupid meaningless thing to call out and yet no sound came from his mouth. His throat felt like it was filled with sand and smoke. He screamed again, "No!" and in the distance he heard his muffled scream calling back to him. And again he screamed and still he couldn't seem to move his arms. Another voice made itself heard.

"Roy! Roy, you're ok. Come on just wake up and shut up."

In the eternal instant between sleeping and waking, Roy Mustang knew where he was and how he got there. Not in the desert, but in East City, lying on the couch in Maes Hughes' quarters, waking up with a skull cracking hangover.

Late yesterday Maes had phoned him, "Hey Roy, my transfer papers have come through. I'm going home to Central. Come and celebrate my imminent departure with me!"

Roy hadn't been in the mood to celebrate anything, but he wasn't about to disappoint his best friend. For Maes' sake he had been happy enough earlier in the evening. He was genuinely glad for his friend, glad that he would be taking up a new posting in Central, glad for his promotion, glad that he would be near the women he loved. He smiled and joked as Maes beamed about returning to Gracia and continuing their courtship. But after a couple of drinks Mustang decided that all he wanted to do was get paralytic. So he did.

He didn't remember anything much after that. Had he started an argument with a bartender? Maybe he'd burned some rubbish? What had he said, did he talk too much? Maes must have dragged him home and dropped him on the couch. He always looked out for Roy, and was a great friend. He hoped he hadn't spoilt the evening too much.

Slowly he peeled open his left eye. The light was excruciating, like a nail driving into his brain. His eye felt gritty and he quickly shut it again. He tried to lift his left hand, which was hanging somewhere down beside the couch, but when he tried to move it, it felt numb and prickly. He shifted attention to his right hand. But it wouldn't move at all. He tugged at his hand again and realised he was lying on it, so he rolled a little and pulled his hand out from behind the small of his back. He raised his hand to cover his eyes and tried again. This time guarded by his hand, he forced open his eyes.

"Hey, the sleeper awakes! How you doing there Roy?" asked Maes.

Hughes was standing in the small living room, hands on hips his attention focused on Mustang. The single officers quarters were small and efficiently laid out. A small kitchen opened onto the living area that was furnished with a couch, a chair and a small desk. A door led to the adjoining bedroom and small bathroom.

Mustang's tongue reluctantly pulled away from the roof of his mouth and formed some words. "Not so good. Did I screw up the night? Sorry." he mumbled. Every word he spoke started an explosion in his head.

"You look like you need coffee," observed Hughes.

"Yes please," Mustang moaned.

As Hughes went to the small kitchen and made a pot of coffee Mustang started, very cautiously, to sit up on the couch. Every move hurt and in the time it took him to delicately sit up, Hughes had made them both a cup of coffee and returned to the living room armed with two steaming mugs, and some pain killers.

"Thanks Hughes. Sorry I was a selfish jerk last night. Hope I wasn't too much trouble." Mustang said as he gratefully accepted the offered coffee and tablets.

Maes sat in the chair. "I'd say that you were an arrogant self centred bastard, and yes, you were a lot of trouble. But then I'm used to that," he smiled as he watched Roy over the rim of his mug.

"Did I pass out?"

"Yes. Just after I punched you." Maes paused, "Do you remember the rubbish bins behind the bar?"

"Oh, God. I didn't did I?"

"Yes you did. At least they don't have to organise rubbish collection this week. But I wasn't about to let you have a go at the bartender's car."

Roy didn't say anything, feeling ashamed at his loss of self control. Maes continued to quietly watch him. He cared more for Roy than nearly anybody else, and he knew that his friend was deeply troubled. More than just the horror of the war they had so recently returned from, Roy was dealing with something and Maes wanted to help if he could.

"How's Hawkeye doing?" Hughes asked casually.

Riza Hawkeye, their comrade, their friend, and the woman in Mustang's nightmare. It was a simple question that hit Mustang like a punch to the chest.

"She's ok I guess." Mustang tried to keep his voice even and his eyes on the coffee. "Why do you ask?"

"Just that you mentioned her a few times last night. Actually you mentioned her a lot. You seemed pretty upset about something. I was wondering if she's ok?"

Damn it, thought Mustang, he had talked too much. He sat there sipping his coffee, wondering what he could say and what he should say.

Maes always saw more than you thought he did. He could read people and understand their motivation, no matter how they tried to hide it. His manner often seemed frivolous, but he was aware of everything going on around him and he had an uncanny ability to see the connections others missed.

"I though maybe you two had finally started sleeping together and you're worried about being court marshalled for fraternising," Hughes said with a practiced gleam in his eye.

Mustang glared at his friend, genuinely angry at what he'd said. "Don't be an arsehole Maes," he growled.

"Ah put that look away Roy, I just wanted to get you talking again."

Maes and Roy had been friends for a long time. They had met as cadets, and served side by side ever since. But Roy had known Riza Hawkeye a lot longer. They had met as young teenagers and grown up together until Mustang left to join the military. To say their relationship was complicated was an understatement. They knew each other intimately, yet in all the time Maes had known them, he couldn't remember seeing them ever touch. They trusted each other completely, cared for each other deeply and always covered each others backs. But there was something more, shared experiences good and bad, that bound them together and yet somehow kept them apart.

"She's asked for my help with something," offered Mustang. "I said I would, but, I don't know. It's really," he hesitated, "I don't know if she really understands what she's asked me to do."

"Do you understand what she's asked you to do?" prompted Hughes.

"Yes," Roy rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his friend. "I understand what, and why. I just don't want to do it."

Roy's eyes seemed confused and empty. Maes knew that look. It was how Mustang had looked when given an order to eradicate a village in the desert. He suddenly feared that whatever Riza had asked involved flame and pain. He was concerned by Roy's behaviour, but he also trusted these two and didn't know how much further he should go.

"Sounds seriously messed up."

"It is," said Roy, his voice tense. "It is."

A long silence drew out between the two men as they finished their coffee. Hughes finally spoke.

"Do you trust her?"

Roy turned the question over in his mind. Do I trust Riza? It seemed a stupid question with an obvious answer. Yes. Completely. Absolutely. I trust her with everything, my life, my sanity, my soul. As he thought about it he relaxed a little.

"Yes," he said, and Roy realised he was smiling calmly.

Roy's smile calmed Maes' fears a little. "Then trust her," said Maes. "Trust that she knows what she's asking and that she knows how much she can ask of you. Help her. Then take care of her, like she'll always take care of you."

Maes stood up. "Enough of this. Sleep here a bit longer if you want." He was suddenly his grinning, exuberant self. "I have to pack. My beautiful Gracia is waiting and I can't be wasting anymore time with hungover soldiers like you."

Mustang's head still ached, but maybe he felt more hopeful then he had since leaving the desert. He lay back on the couch and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

 _AN - This is the first fan fiction I wrote. Comments and feedback always welcome._


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